


Almost Lifelike

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dolls, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doll made in his image even had a tiny cigarette in its mouth, and a heart stitched to its chest. He almost felt flattered that someone saw him in such an innocent light, despite his default instinct to make sure all those he encountered had the proper amount of fear toward him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Lifelike

**Author's Note:**

> This is, of course, based on the numerous in-game doll miscs we now have.

Monday morning always felt more mundane than any other day of the week. Residual from the weekend, the Spy found he had to be very quick about transitioning back from a life of _almost_ being a civilian—even if his life was not at stake in this war, his performance and job certainly would be if the BLUs won a few too many times.

He lit a cigarette as he finished straightening his tie in the locker mirror. The room wasn't so much a locker room in the traditional sense, but more of a storage where he and his teammates kept some of their personal belongings during the week. Nonetheless, he did not keep anything of his there besides a few necessities that the base was often lacking, like razors and cigarettes. Even his civilian's clothing he kept hidden in his quarters, behind more than one lock.

No holidays from paranoia, he supposed.

Tucking the remaining cigarettes into his disguise case, the man had nearly made it to the door before he heard a hiss beckoning him over to the adjacent line of lockers—more than their team would ever need, he had thought when they were initially given the room. He managed to catch sight of the Sniper motioning him over to his locker.

As he made his way slowly over, a smirk on his face, one eyebrow quirked upward. “The others already left for the battlefield, Mundy. I hardly think secrecy is in order.”

The Sniper merely smiled in response, jerking a thumb toward the locker next to him.

His teammate's expression turned into a frown as he noticed that the cabinet remained ajar. It was exceptionally rare, considering most of the men did value their limited privacy in such close quarters. The Australian seemed to think his friend knew who the locker belonged to, but he had to admit paying very little mind to such details.

He shrugged. “Why are you so impressed? I doubt if any of us have something interesting to keep in here.”

“It's the _Pyro's_ ,” the Sniper replied, full of mischief more suitable of a teenager. “You mean y'ain't the slightest bit curious about him? I mean, there's a _purse_ in his locker back at the fort. Gotta be somethin' weird here too, I reckon.”

“And you're proposing that we rifle through the Pyro's belongings?”

The Sniper dipped his head forward a small amount, almost coy. “What, y'scared or somethin'? It's just Pyro, I mean—” He held a hand in the air, indicating the creature's short, hunched stature. “Happy little bugger who leaves candy wrappers everywhere he goes.”

He paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Still don't know how he manages to _eat_ candy with the mask on, come to think of it. But he ain't gonna hurt _us_ , and can't blame me for bein' _curious_...”

“Of course I'm not _afraid_ of him,” the Spy retorted, annoyance in his expression. That was partially a lie—he was wary of him to say the least, considering none of them knew a thing about the Pyro except for the absolutely brutal rampages he was known for. There was something disconcerting about the faceless, voiceless monstrosity, remaining free of any apparent emotion as he torched man and property alike with that flamethrower.

Always burning, burning, burning. He wondered if the being inside was as hollow and empty as the remains of the charred buildings it left behind. If nothing else, the Frenchman had some respect for the disturbing mystery of the arsonist's identity.

He shook his head again. “I just don't wonder _that_ much about him. He does his job and stays out of my way, which is enough for me.”

“Well, I for one _do_ wonder.”

The Sniper hadn't waited for his teammate's permission to crack the door open a bit more. He was peering in as the Spy watched, somewhat impatiently, taking an irritated drag of his cigarette. Frankly he just wanted to get to the battlefield and see some interesting action, but now he had supposed he would stick around long enough to see what might be discovered.

The expression on the other man's face as he beheld the locker's contents was, however, merely baffled.

“What?” the Spy questioned anxiously. Now he was actually getting _interested_ in this whole affair, which annoyed him more than anything else for the moment. “Something grotesque?”

“Er, well. Not exactly.” He opened the door fully, revealing a display that nearly made the smoke fall from his comrade's lips.

Inside the compartment were a series of smaller ones, like that of a dollhouse, with miniature versions of many of the mercenaries from both teams. The locker had been sectioned off with pieces of wood to form different “rooms,” some of the battlefield and others of rooms inside the various bases they occupied. The Spy could recognize several from the Teufort base they had recently spent time in, such as the upstairs hayloft and intel room.

The hayloft room contained a small doll of their Engineer, button eyes and what appeared to be felt overalls and RED uniform. He was positioned next to a sentry that seemed to be made of crudely shaped metal and painted red. Above the hayloft was the Medic's exam room, a doll of the doctor holding a piece of clay molded into the rough shape of a human heart. On the table beside him was a much larger doll of the Heavy, his chest torn open to reveal cotton stuffing splattered with red paint.

“That's...unusually creative for such a demented individual,” he finally spoke up, glancing over at the Sniper's still-shocked expression. “Where do you suppose he found time and materials for all of this?”

The Sniper brushed a hand over his chin. “Time? Well, I s'pose all the time we _don't_ see him, at night for instance. Materials, hm...a lot of this looks like it came from around the base. Maybe the cloth came from old uniforms or somethin' like that...oh! Would you look at that, hm?”

He spoke these last words teasingly, and the Spy's chest tensed up when he spotted the dolls featured in the intel room diorama. A figure that was unmistakably him, having an obviously romantic dinner at the intel desk with a dark-haired doll in a blue dress. It even had the little hairband she always wore these days.

“Hah, boy. Kinda cute though, don't'ya think? I mean, at least it ain't nothin' dirty.”

The Spy rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't expect anything profane out of Pyro. I mean, whoever or whatever he may be, he has a very childlike disposition.”

He meditated on this fact as he examined the little display closer. The doll made in his image even had a tiny cigarette in its mouth, and a heart stitched to its chest. He almost felt flattered that someone saw him in such an innocent light, despite his default instinct to make sure all those he encountered had the proper amount of fear toward him.

“I guess he got closer to the truth about this than anyone else around here, eh?” the Sniper chided, punching him lightly in the arm before he bent to finally retrieve his gun. They were already fifteen minutes late as it was, and Pauling had a tendency to complain about small infractions.

“Shut up, Mundy,” the Spy muttered under his breath. But he still tarried for a moment as his teammate slammed his locker shut, jarring the contents of the Pyro's adjacent one in the process. The other man was already gone from the room as the Frenchman carefully fixed the positioning of the few dolls that had been knocked askew, a barely detectable smile on his face as he closed the door gently, leaving his presence there a secret.


End file.
